The Forgotten
by noyer
Summary: Alara was just an Ancelstierran schoolgirl when a strange letter changed everything. Now she lives in the Clayr's Glacier in the Old Kingdom, but her mixed past may come back to haunt her and put the ones she loves in danger.
1. Wyverley

The metallic clicking coming from the clean, well-lit room sounded vaguely musical in the cool fall afternoon. Outside the large glass windows, leaves were piled up around the slender trunks of trees in shades of brilliant orange and red. The stone walls echoed with the chatter of schoolgirls, clustered in groups around the windows with books balanced on their legs. Most were sitting in one place or another, reading or comparing notes. A brave few had ventured outside in the freezing wind to roam the grounds or visit the nearby village before the evening came.

The most noticeable figures were dressed entirely in white, pacing the floor in the centre of the room. A stark contrast to the sober, dark colours of the standard school uniforms, they also had large, insect-like black masks pulled over their faces. It was from the silver rapiers they held in their hands that the sound was coming, as each strike made a small noise. The blows were falling more furiously now, each trying to test the other's defences, dodging each other with tiny steps. The shorter of the two went into what appeared to be a retreat, which quickly turned into a feint as she lunged forward, extending her arm as far as she could and jabbing the other girl squarely in the chest. The thin silver blade bent with the force of the strike as she quickly threw her arm back for balance, a quiet laugh clearly audible behind the mask.

"You tricked me!" the taller girl cried indignantly, even as she pulled her mask off to reveal a spreading grin. "I thought I'd _finally_ got you into a retreat, and you just doubled back and hit me anyhow. Isn't there something about fair play in the rules?"

"Perhaps," came the low reply, although with a trace of quiet good humour. "But if there was anything unfair in the match, I'd have to say it was your lack of foresight. How long did Tomek spend on warning us to watch our opponents carefully, over and over until we all got tired of hearing it?" She turned away without waiting for an answer, disengaging a stray lock of hair from the back of the mask before tugging it away from her face, cheeks flushed. "It's merely a learning experience, Jacqui. I didn't become a swordswoman overnight. It took years of practise, and bruises, and getting stabbed in the chest- just like you. Eventually it will start to make sense."

Jacqui shook her head dubiously, her eyebrows drawing together slightly. "It doesn't seem fair, though. You've always been good at everything. You're better at music, maths, etiquette...and now fighting arts? Is there anything you _can't_ do?"

She looked up with some surprise, evidently preparing a retort, when two approaching figures interrupted her train of thought. The first thing she noticed was that they were close to her own age, and male- a rarity at Wyverley, which was an all-girls' school. As they drew closer, she recognised one of them as Nicholas Sayre, the Chief Minister's nephew, and a good friend of hers. "Nick!" she cried, forgetting herself as she lifted her gloved hand to wave at him. "What on earth are you doing here?"

He grinned somewhat roguishly and waved back, and she took a closer look at the person he'd brought with him. He was a tall, slenderly built young man with curly hair and hazel eyes, who met her glance for a moment before turning to Nick and saying something in a low voice, to which he responded with a laugh. They were barely ten paces away, and she drew closer to Jacqui without realising it, feeling suddenly stern and self-conscious in her white breeches and jacket, which clung loosely to her slim figure no matter how much she tugged at them. Jacqui had a hand to her hair, pushing locks of it away from her face, and for a moment she was tempted to follow suit.

"Alara," Nick said, reaching out to take her gloved hand. "Look at you. Didn't they ever teach you not to play with swords? Someone could get hurt," he teased, taking the rapier from her grip and checking the balance, peering at it closely. "Look at this, Sam," he said to his friend. "Perfectly balanced. How often do you have to knock this back into shape, eh?" He set it carefully on the ground, watching her from the corner of his eye as her face relaxed into a smile, and she put a hand on her hip.

"Would you appreciate it even if I told you?" Alara replied with a shrug, taking her hand from his to remove the glove and toss it at her feet with the sword. "The fighting arts exam was probably the most of a strain, but I'm pleased with the results."

Jacqui rolled her eyes upward, leaning in to Nick's friend and whispering, "That's because she was first. Just like in almost every other subject..."

He turned to regard her for a moment, and she felt her cheeks go red as her eyes dropped to the ground. _Typically graceful_, she thought bitterly. Her natural shyness had a tendency to resurface at completely inopportune times, such as when the only boy she would admit having had a fancy for came to visit...

Hearing her name interrupted her thought pattern yet again, especially as she failed to recognise the voice saying it. It was Nick's friend, who up until that point had been mostly silent. "I'm sorry?" she said slowly, looking curiously at him and waiting for a response.

"I was commenting on the origin of your name," Sameth explained. "I've been going to school in Ancelstierre since I was five, and I've never heard anything quite like it. My mother has a cousin whose name is quite similar, however. It's Alare. I've been studying my family tree quite extensively lately. We're from the Old Kingdom, though, so perhaps that's why."

"I've never been to the Old Kingdom," she replied thoughtfully. "At least, I don't think so. But the Wydds aren't my real parents, either. I mean, the family I grew up with," she explained. "I believe I was adopted, although I had lost interest in my past by the time I was old enough to be interested in it."

He said nothing, but continued to look at her...his eyes always returning to the thin scar on the right side of her forehead, another part of her past that had yet to be fully explained. The reason she left her hair down so often was to hide it, to avoid the curious stares or the whispered questions as she walked past. It resembled nothing so much as a careless pencil mark; a small line from the edge of her hair that ended just above her right eyebrow, with another barely-visible line that intersected it only to fade into the pale skin of her forehead before it reached her temple. She had always supposed it was due to those accidents that children have, perhaps one that her foster parents were ashamed of- but now she wondered why it had never crossed her mind to ask about it before.


	2. Departure

The cold from the outside lingered inside the stone walls of Alara's study. Even the fire, which was crackling loudly in the hearth, was unable to banish the chill entirely from the room. She shivered as her bare feet touched the stone, peering into the framed mirror which stood against one wall.

She had bright green eyes, straight black hair, and thin eyebrows that arched lightly, giving her a look of perpetual curiosity. Her skin was fair all over, and her build slim. So far, the ordinary observer; the extraordinary observer would have noticed that her gaze tended to be distant, as if she looked past the person she was addressing; that her hands had small scars on the palms which her gloves hid; that her accent was a curious mixture of Ancelstierran and the brogue of the Old Kingdom, seldom heard south of the area nearest the Wall. Not that Alara would have been able to discern most of those things herself, as she habitually covered the mirror with a cloth so as not to see her reflection. She knew her features were far from ugly, but at the same time felt aloof and sometimes awkward. She also knew her reserve was unnatural, especially for a girl of her age.

Nicholas had been a year ahead of her and was already in university, but she was almost two years younger - she had started her schooling early, at the insistence of her parents, who hoped to make her into some sort of trophy wife. Or so it had always seemed. When they met at a banquet for the Chief Minister and his family, it seemed to be the perfect opportunity. She was thirteen and slightly envious of the older girls, he was just fifteen and as much of a charming young man as she'd ever encountered. They saw each other over the holidays and during free days at school, or whenever one of them could get away. After a year, their relationship had changed very little, except to become slightly more formal. Alara had always supposed it was because they were both getting older, although she seldom spoke about it unless she was alone.

Now she was preparing to leave sixth form, and nowhere near ready to start thinking of university. Alara had only the most vague idea of where she would end up after the summer holidays ended, but it all had a surreal quality to it. They were both young and foolish, and she was well aware of that fact. But it never seemed quite right to think of the future without Nick in it, as if there was something missing. Her dreams had become more frightening and unusual lately, and she was glad for someone to talk to, even if he wouldn't have been able to understand.

She paused to think about them for a moment. They had been a part of her life for so long- the strange, fragmented but frighteningly real flashes of insight that she had when she was asleep. And not only when she was asleep, as she recalled with a frown. During her history exam, she was interrupted in the middle of an essay about the old hierarchy of power in Ancelstierre by a vision of herself in a boat, going down a river with the spray in her face. It was a nice scenario, and she barely snapped out of her reverie in time to finish the exam before the bell rung. Not all of them were bad, but they merely served to puzzle her. Why would she be alone in a boat, anyhow? And there was no scenery of that sort around Wyverley, she knew. So how could her subconscious have dug something like that up?

"It's a mystery, Llonwyn," she said to her sleeping cat, idly stroking the fur on the top of his head before putting on a heavy jacket and sensible shoes. Nick was waiting at the bottom of the stairs, and he offered her his arm as they made their way out. Alara noted with some amusement that his friend seemed quite overwhelmed by Jacqui, who had attached herself to him in a similar fashion and was chattering away as fast as she could. By the time they reached the tea shop on the outskirts of the village, she was quite out of breath. They found a table after a bit of pushing, and were silent until the first pot of tea had been cleared away and the woman was on her way with another.

"Have you decided on Chelsea for certain?" Nick inquired, initiating the conversation. He offered her the teapot, which she took gratefully and poured herself another cup. Wrapping her fingers around it and peering into the amber liquid slowly, she pondered for a moment.

"Yes and no. I've decided to go to Chelsea _if_ I go to uni at all," she explained. "As of now, I don't know what my parents want. They've listed reasons for and against all my alternatives, leaving it basically up to me. And I don't feel ready to make up my mind just yet."

He laughed, taking a lemon from the container and offering it to Jacqui and Sam. Both shook their heads, and he continued. "Don't feel badly if you don't go to uni. It means I'll be seeing more of you. And Sam here has no plans on university, either. He's got a kingdom to run," Nick added with another chuckle. Sam looked up at the mention of his name and shook his head, slightly embarrassed.

"Thanks for making quite the announcement of it," he said with a small smile. Jacqui and Alara exchanged looks, both about to speak when the owner approached their table, a piece of paper in her hand.

"Is one of you Alara Wydd?" She was a stern, buxom woman with a dark stare which made truant students feel inevitably guilty. Nick looked at Alara, about to ask, when she stuck out her hand.

"That's me. I'd be happy to take that," she said, motioning for the paper. It was marked with the school's seal, and as she glanced out the window she spotted the second-year girl who had delivered it running up the road, hands in her pockets. All eyes were on her as she opened it, reading with her lips pressed together.

_Alara,_

_Your family has asked me to make arrangements for you to leave the school before the end of term. They have received word from some of your extended family, and a guide will be waiting to take you across the border. Your things have been packed to the best of our ability, and whatever you are unable to carry with you will be sent to your home. I wish you safe journey, and please hurry back to the school once you receive this, as time is short._

_Headmistress Rookwood_

Nick leant over, reaching for the parchment, but she held it close to her and shook her head. "I'm sorry, I have to go. Nick, I'll be sure and write you. And if someone could make sure Jacqui gets back to the school, that would be lovely." She bent down and kissed Nick on the cheek and left quickly, the cold air stinging her skin. As she walked down the winding road that eventually led to Wyverley, her head was spinning with questions to ask once she got there. _Extended family? Which border are they talking about, anyhow? It _can't _be the Wall, I don't know anyone from the North. Why would my parents send me away in such a hurry? Why couldn't they write me themselves?_

She pushed open the iron gate and broke into a run, not pausing for breath until she reached the Headmistress' office on the third floor, knocking quite a few younger students out of the way in her mad hurry. Without pausing to knock, she opened the door. Headmistress Rookwood and Magistrix Davis were engaged in conversation, and both started visibly at the sight of her. Magistrix Davis moved toward her, motioning her into a chair and placing a soothing hand on her shoulder. Alara nodded, opening her mouth to apologise for her rudeness, when the Headmistress interrupted.

"Now that you're here at last, I should like to discuss the arrangements made for your trip across the Wall. We have already-"

"My trip across the _Wall_?" Alara said in disbelief, shaking her head as she did so. "Why on earth am I being sent there?"

The Headmistress folded her arms, unaccustomed to being interrupted. "That will be explained later. As I said, your things are waiting in the entrance hall. Take only the largest trunk you can carry, and rest assured that the rest will be sent home to your family. Magistrix Davis has also taken the liberty of putting together a travelling outfit for you, since your uniform would probably be most inept." She took a paper-wrapped bundle from the desk and set it on Alara's lap, patting it twice. "I wish you good luck, Miss Wydd. That is all." Before she had time to respond, the Magistrix had already taken her by the shoulders and steered her into the hallway, looking very seriously down at her.

"Alara, do you know why you are being sent across the Wall?"

"No," Alara replied somewhat angrily, a trace of fear creeping into her voice. "I just got this letter, came here, got a package shoved into my arms...and now I'm expected to pick up my things and leave my home?"

"Ancelstierre should never have been your home," Magistrix Davis replied, her voice low and somber. "I'm sure you're aware at this point that the Wydds aren't your real parents. They adopted you, but your birth parents were from the Old Kingdom, in the very northern part...as far away from here as you could possibly imagine. You have the Mark of a Charter Mage," she said solemnly, pressing her finger to the scar on the girl's forehead. A tingle of electricity seemed to course through Alara's veins, and she dropped the package in surprise.

"What did you do?" she asked fearfully, stepping back instinctively. "How did you do that? It's just a scar."

The woman merely shook her head, stroking Alara's hair as if she were a very young child. "I have a feeling that in time, they will tell you everything. Until then, I want you to be safe. Stay with your appointed guide at all times, and always remember that things in the Old Kingdom are not like here. There are quite a few things that you know nothing about, and no time to teach you. Use what little Charter Magic I have been able to teach you, if need be." She picked up the parcel and handed it gently to her, turning her so that she faced the dormitories. "Now, we'll say good-bye. I feel certain we'll meet again."

Alara nodded, all the anger being replaced by an uncomfortable feeling of anxiety. Once she reached her dormitory, she unwrapped the string and paper to find a long skirt and thick jacket in very dark blue. She pulled them on, leaving her collared school shirt and blazer intact. Her fingers undid the catch on her name tag, and she set it on the nightstand table, picking up her valise and closing the door firmly behind her. The new clothes felt somehow alien, especially with the other girls still dressed in the uniform. She felt as though she had already left, and no one was around to notice. Not even Jacqui, who was still in the tea shop with that strange boy and Nick...

_Nick_, she thought suddenly. The first chance she got, she would ask her guide to post a telegram to his house, to let him know that she was alright. Although, would telegrams even work in the Old Kingdom? She had heard that many Ancelstierran electronic devices stopped functioning too close to the Wall. There was certain to be some way of reaching him, however. And with that in mind, she descended the final staircase into the main hallway, trailing her fingertips on the wall and walking as slowly as she could without falling over.


	3. Across

_Dear Nicholas,_

_I'm in the midst of what could possibly be my most uncomfortable car ride ever! After having been fed some melodramatic __dialogue and having my valise thrust into my arms, I was herded aboard some kind of loaned military vehicle, dressed in a ridiculously medieval ensemble thoughtfully provided by the Headmistress, and am now bound for the Wall._

_The Magistrix informed me that I could leave one telegram at the wall to be sent after my departure, if I chose to take advantage of the opportunity, and you'd better be appropriately grateful that I've used mine on you! Actually, there was something I'd wanted to tell you before I left . . . you see, we've known one another for ages, haven't we? It seems almost ridiculous to say, __but you must know, I -_

The truck stopped so abruptly that Alara's fountain pen jabbed her finger rather sharply and fell to the ground, splashing ink on her valises. She made a slight clicking sound with her tongue, scowling deeply as the back of the truck was pulled open and two soldiers dressed in uniform peered at her curiously from below the brims of their military-issue caps.

"I don't know if this is the right one," one of them began anxiously, tapping his fingers nervously on the brim of the door. "She looks far too small to be sixteen. And she's alone."

At the mention of the word _alone _her gaze, which had been drifting aimlessly around what little scenery she could see behind them, snapped back into focus abruptly. "What do you mean, alone? Was I supposed to have company in the back of this dark, bumpy, rather unstable vehicle? Because I don't really think anyone else would have comfortably fit." It was a surprisingly out-of-character outburst for the normally quiet Alara, who could usually be counted on to remind others that beauty was simplicity and fewer words said more - but before she could gather the courage to interrupt them with an apology an out-of-breath figure stumbled into them and waved a weary hand at her.

In response to the glances of the two guards, Sam grinned good-naturedly and showed them a large canvas traveling bag. "It appears I missed the truck after all," he said, still breathing rather heavily and clutching his chest for support. "Sorry about that. I was supposed to be at the school, but then your friend got lost on the way back and by the time I grabbed my bag and made it there they told me you'd already left."

"I had," Alara replied with a shrug, not knowing what else to say. "If I'd known I was supposed to wait for you, I would have taken the opportunity to pack a few more things. As it is, I don't know where I'm headed, or how I'm to get there." She paused for an impatient breath and bent forward to pick up her valise from the floor of the car, opening her mouth to continue until she noticed he was smiling in a way that made her slightly nervous. What did he know? Folding her arms over her chest to keep from shivering, she gave him a look.

He shifted uncomfortably, looking this way and that before finally meeting her gaze across the covered bed of the truck where she sat perched on a wooden crate. "You see, it's like this . . . because I'm from the Old Kingdom and know how to get you where you're going, that is, somewhere quite far from the Wall, I, er." He paused for a moment, not really sure of how to continue. "The Old Kingdom is still a monarchy, which I'm sure you knew already, and my parents are in charge, which makes me - anyhow, that isn't important. What I mean is that you were in need of someone familiar with the terrain and the people to get you around and keep you out of trouble, and I was elected." It was more difficult to explain than he'd thought.

She didn't answer for a moment, looking down at her shoes. In her handmade wool cloak and long skirt she looked more like some form of Old Kingdom nobility than the Ancelstierran schoolgirl she always had been, and when her eyes finally met his, they both smiled briefly.

"So, what is it like to be a prince?" Alara said with a small laugh, shifting her valise from hand to hand. He'd done some kind of Charter Magic to lighten it, the details of which she didn't quite catch, but she still needed to change arms from time to time to keep her arms from hurting too much. They'd been walking for about four and a half hours, stopping only twice for short water breaks before continuing steadily northward.

Sam had also changed into handmade clothing, his canvas bag strapped on his back over a dark-green woollen cloak, with a heavy sweater and long breeches beneath. He pushed a hand through his curly hair and smiled briefly at her, pausing to think for a moment. "It's not your average student job," he admitted with a shrug. "I mean, I have all of these 'official' festivals and things that I have to participate in because I'm the heir to the throne, and my sister's favourite hobby is bossing me around, so my school holidays aren't really holidays at all since I spend them doing a lot of things I'd rather not do. I don't even get my homework done most of the time." It felt good to get that off his chest, even if it meant he was now struggling to catch his breath.

The southern landscape was surprisingly bleak for early spring; they'd both shivered more than once on the long trek starting from the Wall, despite being bundled in multiple layers of heavy clothing. There was a bit of a light wind stirring the leaves on the trees, occasionally blowing something in their path or causing the hem of a cloak to snag on a branch. Their route was taking them far from settlements, save for a sparse few villages scattered around the base of a low hill they passed about an hour into their walk.

Still, Sam felt a curious feeling of homecoming, the same he had every time he crossed the border. Everything about the Old Kingdom felt _right_, as if he was finally back where he belonged. His father had once described a similar feeling after one of their frequent "official" visits to Ancelstierre, and Ellimere was generally known to be in a better mood for the first two or three days after coming back from school. He wondered how this other girl felt, the one walking beside him. Alara, a name he knew for certain wasn't Ancelstierran. What was she looking for in the Old Kingdom? Whatever it was, he knew she hadn't expected to find it so soon; she looked tired, slightly frustrated, and cold - her pale cheeks were taking on a distinctly blue tinge, and she was having trouble keeping her lips still.

"Are you okay?" he said, startling her out of her reverie. She looked slightly surprised at being asked, but nodded gently, swallowing once and setting her valise down so she could push a wayward strand of hair out of her face. "Really, we can stop if you want."

"I'd like to stop," she admitted. "I haven't done this much walking in a while, and I'm exhausted. You don't mind, do you?" A brief smile flashed across her face as she shrugged her shoulders, twisting this way and that to get the kinks out of her upper back. Her face was cold, her hands were cold, and all she wanted to do was collapse on the cold ground and go to sleep, but he was looking at her as if he was waiting for something, and she realised that she'd left their conversation hanging without realising it. "It must be difficult, I suppose. Having to deal with the things that you do."

Some part of Sam wanted to agree completely, to accept the pity he thought he deserved. Or maybe it wasn't pity. Either way, it seemed strange to be standing there with her talking about kingdoms and castles when six hours before they'd been in a tea shop discussing leaving balls over cups of earl grey. The conversation could use a bit of lightening, and he knew just how to do that. She had seated herself carefully on the ground, arms folded and doing that stare-off-into-the-distance thing that seemed to be a regular habit of hers, looking for all the world like a . . . oh, for heaven's sake.

He sat down on a rock facing her, leaning elbows on his knees, a roguish grin spreading his lips slightly. "So, what were you going to say at the end of that telegram to Nicholas?" he asked innocently, crossing his arms to keep in more warmth.

"What telegram?" she replied, drawing her eyebrows together slightly. "I didn't write to him."

Sam arched an eyebrow at her. "Oh, but you did. I saw it on the floor of the truck and called after you, but you were already out of earshot, so I took the liberty of seeing who it was addressed to." He shivered briefly and drew his shoulders in. "I'd written something for him also, so I put them both in the same envelope, but I noticed that yours was unsigned and unfinished." As he'd predicted, her face coloured brilliantly and she put her hands to her cheeks, shaking her head gently.

"You're not supposed to read mail for other people!" she cried, unable to hold back an embarrassed laugh. "I completely forgot about finishing it, or sending it. It was about to take on a rather bleak tone anyhow, being as how I'm not sure I'll ever see him again." Her pale face quickly grew serious, as she intertwined her fingers and stared at them for a long moment, not saying anything else. Nicholas seemed so far away, at school across the Wall where it was early fall and students went about with jackets tossed carelessly over their shoulders.

He'd always been the quickest to laugh, the first to toss something across the table at an official dinner or drag her outside to see the gardens in pouring rain. They were never romantic, but there was something quiet and gentle and unspoken between the two of them nonetheless. When she'd kissed him on the cheek before leaving the tea shop that afternoon (at least, it had been afternoon in Ancelstierre - she had no idea what time it was across the Wall, difficult as it was to calculate the difference) he'd pressed her hand between both of his, warm from holding his teacup, and thus they missed the chance to properly say goodbye.

To her surprise, a tear flowed slowly down her cheek and dried almost instantly, blown away in the now-freezing wind.

From his limited vantage point on the rock, Sam tilted his head to the side and studied her carefully. "Are you . . . that is to say, are you crying? I didn't mean to upset you." She looked so lost, Sam thought. Carrying a handmade soft valise that he was certain didn't belong to her, dressed in strange clothes and sitting on the ground in the middle of a flat prairie that stretched as far as the eye could see.

And yet there was something inherently familiar about her being there, something different about her ever since they'd crossed the wall and entered the Old Kingdom. Excepting her straight black hair and fair skin, she could have been one of the Clayr, with her clear green eyes and air of quiet knowledge. There was something about her face vaguely reminiscent of Lirael, and Sam groaned inwardly at the thought – it would be just his luck if she turned out to be a distant relation just as he was beginning to take a liking to her. As of late, Lirael had been traveling all over the kingdom with Sabriel and never seemed to have a spare word for Sam, who spent most of his time in his workshop tinkering with copper wire and Charter Magic.

It had been difficult, the past year or so; possibly two, if Sam's muddled recollections of the chaos south of the Wall was any indicator. Nick had been rushed to hospital and spent the next six weeks recuperating, while Touchstone and Sabriel fell back into their royal duties with barely a pause and Lirael locked herself in her spacious quarters, coming down for the occasional meal but spending her days reading books from Belisaere's massive library. Ellimere was still . . . well, she was still Ellimere. If it wasn't a new "terribly close friend" she wanted to push on him it was endless menial tasks like spending time observing the work done in various parts of the castle or making visits for the sake of royal appearances. He was glad when the Ancelstierran school year finally started and he and Nick were reunited at last, for one last year as Nick was starting at university and Sam would return to the Old Kingdom for good.

Now Nick was in Ancelstierre, preparing for the end of his first eventful year at university, while Ellimere, Lirael and his parents were at Belisaere or somewhere about the more populated regions of the kingdom, doing what they all did best, presumably.

And Sameth was here, in what he best described to himself as the absolute centre of nowhere (though he felt that to be somewhat of an understatement, given the present scenery – or lack thereof, more accurately) with a very uncomfortable knapsack at his feet and a relative stranger across from him, softly asleep with her arms wrapped around her knees. He hadn't even noticed her drift off, so lost had he been in his own thoughts.

Carefully standing up and crouching on the ground so as not to disturb her, he opened the pack and took out a sparse blanket, hoping it would be enough for both of them. A mild south-easterly wind was blowing small pieces of black hair across her forehead, and Sam, not trusting the weather to remain the same any more than in other parts of the country, took her gingerly by the shoulders and turned her slightly, so as not to catch the wind full-on should it pick up speed later in the evening.

She swayed slightly but remained upright, curled up tightly for warmth with her chin nearly touching her chest. As he cast a Charter Magic spell for warmth and wrapped his cloak tightly about him, Sam pulled the blanket over and leaned his back against the rock for support. A sudden gust of wind swayed her in his direction and he caught her with a hand before she'd moved enough to wake, instinctively moving closer to the warmth from her cloaked form, easing her head onto his shoulder.

Before Sam even had time to pull the blanket completely over either of them, the weight of his head became too much and he fell asleep.


	4. Journey

There was that river again, flowing even faster than she remembered. It looked like early spring, clear and cold and bright with the occasional silver fish darting across the path of the boat, diving out of sight, resurfacing again. There were others – every time she tried to look at them their faces blurred and she had to turn back to the water, watching the small ripples spilling across the prow, people moving indistinguishably on the banks of the river and the occasional head turned in her direction as they passed by.

She could hear snatches of their conversations now, words about people and places that meant nothing and yet made perfect sense to this person, this incarnation of herself, if she could call it that. The wind was blowing and her blue gown was made of something so light it almost seemed to be a part of it, twisting gently in the breeze, brushing against her fingers and ankles noiselessly, gently. Lifting part of the skirt with her hand, she studied the material as it swam in and out of focus, decorated with something she couldn't quite make out. Circles. Miniature suns. Stars. That was what they were, golden stars. It seemed almost whimsical, but the fabric tingled under her touch and she dropped it abruptly.

Something pressed on the top of her head – a hand? – and grew slowly heavier, and she tried to turn around but couldn't move at all, and the beautiful light fabric of her dress suddenly felt thick and heavy and there was a steadily growing ache on the back of her neck that she just couldn't explain. Suddenly a wind she hadn't realised was there blew hair in front of her face, and she lifted a heavy hand to push it aside but she was still unable to move, and then she was sitting on something hard with something leaning on her that muffled her breathing, and then her green eyes flashed open.

Alara moved her shoulder – first the left, then the right, gingerly. Everything looked exactly the same as it had when she'd fallen asleep. Or perhaps not quite everything; she recognized what she was looking at but it wasn't the last thing she remembered, and then she realized that she'd been turned around by Sam, who was asleep with his head leaning on hers. That explained the weight, at least.

She sat still for a moment, wondering whether or not to wake him, when she felt him shift slightly behind her back and realized that he'd slept between her and the direction the wind was coming from, which explained how surprisingly warm she had found herself upon waking. He lifted his head from hers and yawned loudly, moving slightly away from her and stretching his legs out.

"I guess we're both up early," Sam said with a grin, covering his mouth as he yawned again. "I'm sorry about moving you after you fell asleep, but I was afraid you'd catch a throat cold being right in the path of the wind, so I leaned you on this rock in the hopes it would block most of it." Stretching his arms high above his head, he studied the terrain with clear hazel eyes, trying to calculate quickly how much distance they could cover if the weather stayed the same, Charter willing.

"Motherly of you," she replied with a smile, folding arms across her chest and following his gaze. "What are you looking for, anyhow?"

He was silent for a moment, staring wordlessly off into the distance before clearing his throat and turning back to her, seating himself cross-legged on the ground. "Nothing, really. Weather patterns. How far we're likely to get today. I feel I should warn you again, even though they probably mentioned it already - this isn't going to be a terribly short journey, and we have a ways to go before we even reach any major settlements where we can get new supplies."

"My headmistress told me I was going to the north, as far north as I could possibly imagine," Alara replied thoughtfully, hugging her knees tightly as a gust of wind ruffled her unbound hair again. "I suppose I've always wanted to leave Ancelstierre, and now I'm here, on my way as far away from it as possible." She smiled briefly, turning one of her pale hands palm up and staring at it for a moment.

Sam frowned thoughtfully, remembering his observation from the previous night. "There's a glacier in the far north end where a - well, I suppose you could call them a _group _for lack of a better word - anyway, where a group of people live. They're kind of like a tribe, I suppose; they're very connected with the royal family at least, and most of them are distantly related to us in one way or another. I was just thinking about how you reminded me of one of them last night - they have a kind of clairvoyance based on Charter Magic and generally spend their days being quiet and mysterious. At least, the ones I've met."

She grinned widely, shaking her head. "So now I'm quiet and mysterious? If Nicholas were here, he'd laugh at you for dead certain." Tucking her hair behind her ears to get it out of her face once and for all, she stood up and stretched her arms above her head the way he'd done a few moments before, rising to her tiptoes for a brief moment before coming back down and seating herself on the rock. It was one of the few times in her life that she'd ever slept with her clothes on, and the first time she'd ever gone on to wear those clothes the next day.

"I didn't mean that," Sam said quickly, but she shook her head gently and waved a hand at him.

"Don't work yourself up over it," she said, smoothing her skirt with her hands. "How far are we going to go today, then?" The horizon was still as empty as it had been the previous night, an indefinite grey blur past waving tall grasses, without a sign of settlement in sight. She realized that by looking in the other direction she couldn't see the Wall, either – it was vaguely like being lost, and she hoped that he knew where they were going.

Sam was presently occupied at folding the blanket, which he did with a deft twist, strapping it to the outside of his bag and double-checking the leather ties. "Perfect," he murmured absently, giving them one last tug and shouldering the bag with a heave. "Wait, sorry? I got slightly distracted for a moment, and I didn't catch that."

She looked up, raising her eyebrows. "Oh, I just wanted to know how far we were going today – I'm not sure how much more of this I can handle," she said half-facetiously. "Not that I mind a whole lot at present, I just want to make sure we won't be doing this for another week." Pulling her lightened valise towards her, she pulled the ties tightly and wound them in an extra knot, her knuckles whitening slightly.

"What? Oh, yes I rather think – that is to say – I can carry that for you if you'd like, is it heavy?" He was still a little logy and sleepy, blinking rapidly to fight off the fatigue that still hung over him. "Anyhow, we're now heading towards the river, and I'd say we should be there in another three hours; that's good news for you because we'll be going upstream but Charter Magic can power the boat, but there will be no more walking involved and it will be a little warmer by this afternoon, I can tell." Sam paused, breathing heavily for a moment.

Instantly brightened by the prospect of no more walking, Alara twirled around with her arms out before scooping up her bag in both hands and practically dashing off across the prairie.

"Wait!" Sam called after her, picking up his own knapsack and running after her, still breathing hard. "Alara! You're going –" To his utter astonishment, she was dead-on, heading directly for a river she probably hadn't even known existed before he told her about it.

_Stranger and stranger,_ Sam thought to himself, vowing to catch her and make her slow down before he did something very unbecoming, like faint. Brushing a curl out of his face with a frustrated hand, he caught up with her at last, nearly knocking her over with his knapsack.

"What's in that bag?" she said curiously, an amused smile tugging at the corners of her lips. "It seems a terrible lot of things for a man to need on such a, well, simplistic journey as this one."

Sighing theatrically – though with a faint hint of a smile – Sam held the bag out to her and tilted his head to one side. "It would be, but it's not all my things. Here." He pulled out a package wrapped in brown paper, tied with a bit of string. "It's a dress, and you have to wear it, because that's how the game goes. So go into the forest and please put it on, because it will probably be much better for this climate than the awful woollen things you're wearing now." He let go the packet with one hand and clutched his knapsack, using the other to swing it back and forth, rather like a pendulum.

Frowning slightly, Alara snatched the packet before she got dizzy and opened the top, trying to peer inside. "I can't even see what it looks like, actually," she said nervously. "If this is heinous, I'm going to wear something from my valise, whether it's appropriate or not." She grinned a little and wrapped her arms around the bag, walking briskly towards the seclusion of a grove of trees not far from where they had been standing.

"If you put on clothes made in Ancelstierre I guarantee they'll fall apart in a matter of hours," he called, hands cupped around his mouth so she could hear him.

"I suppose that's a chance I'm willing to take, depending on how bad the dress is!" she called back over her shoulder with a grin, disappearing into the trees with the bag pressed against her chest.

Once she knew she was out of sight from the villagers wandering around the busy riverfront, Alara slipped out of the thick coat she was wearing and undid the clasp holding the skirt up around her hips, shaking the heavy woollen garments off and shivering briefly in the brisk morning air before taking the mystery gown from the bag Sam had given her and examining it in the dim green light. It was rather nondescript – something very light and blue, subtly patterned, very familiar . . .

Fortunately for her, no one was around to see her nearly trip on a tree root as she realized that it was, in fact, the dress from her dream of the previous night.

She stepped into it much more gingerly than she'd shed her other clothes, pushing her arms through the sleeves and feeling around for a zipper in the back of the gown before realizing there probably wouldn't be one. "Blast!" she cried in a very unladylike fashion, fighting the urge to do something like stamp her foot in a sudden rush of frustration and hopelessness. Why would she have been expected to know how to lace up the back of a gown, for heaven's sake? The whole thing reminded her of a princess in a fairytale, but a fairytale princess would probably have someone with her to help her do things like that, wouldn't she?

In a flash of brilliance, Alara stuck her head out from behind the tree she was standing by. "Sam!" That was his name, wasn't it? "Sam!" He'd turned around and was looking at her, cupping a hand over his ear and shaking his head. "Curses. Er, could you come over here a minute?" He probably couldn't hear her, so she beckoned quickly with her arm (which was clothed, fortunately) and ducked back behind the tree.

The sudden noise of him crashing through the bushes immediately next to her made her jump, and though she was dressed, she instinctively crossed her arms over her chest. "I, ah . . ." He was looking at her inquisitively, and she couldn't stop from laughing briefly at herself. "I'm sorry, but I'm absolutely incapable of fastening the back of this dress, however it's done, so do you think you could help me?"

Much to her surprise, Sam merely shrugged and nodded briefly, walking around behind her and pulling the edges of the dress together. "It's really not that difficult with practice," he said, the closeness of his voice to her ear causing her to start slightly. "Usually girls wear tunics if they're not doing anything important – my sister does, at least – but there's a trick to doing this if you haven't got a maid to dress you." He held the edges together with one hand pressed against her back, taking both the strings in his other hand and placing them in her hand, which was hanging loosely by her side. "Okay, now separate them, one in each hand – no, that one goes in your right hand – okay, ready? Pull, as hard as you can."

Alara pulled, and to her amazement all the complicated twists of string in the back snapped taut and the dress immediately tightened, binding her chest so tightly that breathing was slightly difficult.

"It's supposed to be that way," Sam said, as if reading her thoughts. "We should get on this boat sooner rather than later, though, so if you're ready?"

"Hm? Oh, certainly," she replied a little breathlessly, trying to be short with her words as she tiptoed out of the clearing, the bag in her arms now full of her discarded winter clothing. The dress hung loosely around her legs, the material somehow lighter than silk but smooth as water against her skin, though the long sleeves were cumbersome and kept catching on stray branches. Sam was about ten paces in front of her, so by the time she stepped back into the harsh sunlight and her eyes adjusted, he was already near the dock waiting, leaning casually on his sword – he hadn't been carrying that the whole way, had he? At least, if he had she would surely have remembered it.

In any case, she quickened her pace slightly, narrowly managing to avoid stumbling more than once as she came up to him, still holding the bag tightly. Her black, unruly hair in her eyes nearly completed her transformation from Ancelstierran schoolgirl into – well, Sam still wasn't sure what she was going to become, but he couldn't have imagined her more different from when he'd met her, which had unbelievably only been two days before. Journeys tended to have that effect on one, after all – camaraderie, it was called.

"You look – different," he said, wanting to say _nice_ but changing his mind at the last minute. "If you'll hand me that bag, I'll put it on the boat with my things, and we'll set sail. You don't get seasick, by any chance?"

"Never," she said thoughtfully, handing him the bag. "Not that I have a lot of experience with the sea to begin with, but the few times I've been on boats, I've done fairly well. I'm fond of water." She smiled slightly, pushing the hair out of her face. "You can go first, though."

Sam grinned, tossing the bag on the deck, where it landed with a loud clunk. "Oh, no – I hope there was nothing valuable in there," he said nervously. "Or anything fragile, for that matter. Glass bottles?"

"No, no. Just steel containers. Hand-forged, I assume, as they were provided by our Magistrix, who seems to know about things like this." Alara followed him aboard and immediately ran to the prow like a girl, leaning forward so the spray from the river flowing against the boat brushed across her face, waking her up even more.

Behind her, Sam whispered Charter marks for direction and speed, secured the bags to the side of the boat with a knotted rope, and they cast off.


End file.
